Troubled
by Col3725
Summary: When her best friend dies, seventeen year-old Christine turns to alcohol to cope. Can Booth, Brennan, Parker, and Michael Vincent help her before it's too late?
1. Prologue

**_I should be asleep, but this idea popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone, so I just had to write it down. _**

**_Well, here's the prologue. I hope you like it. _**

* * *

Christine stands at the counter in a movie theater's restroom, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She looks good, she observes. Her makeup is natural, but makes her bright blue eyes pop, and her auburn hair is silky and has a bit of a wave to it. She's dressed in comfortable black jeans, a black t-shirt with a sequined zebra printed on it, and a leather jacket. She's got on black, strappy sandals and her toes are painted lime green. "Do you really think he was looking at me?" She asks her best friend, Brittany, when she emerges from a stall.

"Totally." Brittany, who's wearing white flip-flops, tight indigo-wash jeans and a white, loose-fitting tank top with a wide Aztec printed stripe in the center, runs her right hand under the automatic soap dispenser, cocking her head to look at her friend. "Kai was totally checking you out, Tine."

Christine smiles and turns around, leaning back against the edge of the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. "There are a lot of people in this place, Brit. Are you sure he was looking at me and not someone else? The mistake is understandable."

"You can really be clueless sometimes, you know that?" Brittany laughs, drying her hands with a paper towel.

"Even _if_ he was looking at me, it's not like I'd even have a chance with him. I mean, I'm a junior and he's a sophomore…in college."

Brittany rolls her eyes, tucks her straight, blonde hair behind her ears, and fixes her bangs. "School's out for the summer, so we're seniors now." She pulls out a tube of mascara from her purse and proceeds to touch up her makeup. "If I had a guy looking at me like _that_, he'd be naked before he even knew my name."

"You're exaggerating."

"Not by much," Brittany mutters, coating her lips with another layer of clear, shimmery gloss.

Christine pulls her cell phone out of her purse, remembering that she never turned it back on after the movie. "Crap. It's already 11:15. I've got an 11:30 curfew. If I'm even five minutes late, my dad's gonna have a search and rescue team out looking for me. He's got them on speed dial."

Brittany lets out a howling laugh. "That's funny because I know you're not kidding."

Christine leads the way out of the bathroom and chances a quick glimpse at Kai, who works at the concession stand. She admires his dark brown hair, broad shoulders, and muscular arms, but quickly looks away when he catches her staring. She smiles down at her feet, her cheeks burning and taking on a rosy hue

Brittany just shakes her head and tugs on her best friend's arm. "C'mon, Tine. We gotta get you home."

"Right." Christine recovers and follows Brittany out of the theater.

"Wait!"

Both teenagers turn their heads at the sudden, desperate voice behind them, and Brittany nudges her best friend in the ribs when she sees it's Kai.

"You dropped this." Kai grins, showing off his nearly perfectly straight teeth, and hands Christine a box of gummy bears.

Christine looks down at the candy, which happens to be her favorite, and then up at Kai, who at 6'3, stands a good five inches taller. "I didn't drop this."

Kai runs his hand through his hair and then walks back over to the concession counter.

Christine looks back down at the candy, noticing for the first time the phone number scribbled on the box. She blinks and turns to Brittany, who's just smirking at her. "Okay, so maybe he _was _looking at me." She slips the box into her purse and grabs her phone, muttering another curse as she realizes how late it is. "I need to get home."

"Maybe next time you'll believe me when I tell you stuff."

Christine rolls her eyes and the two of them leave the theater and climb into Brittany's blue Volkswagen Beetle.

* * *

**_Two Weeks Later_**

* * *

Christine's sitting on the couch in some girl from her AP English class' living room. She rests her elbow on the arm of the couch and props her head on her hand. She sighs. Brittany dragged her to this damn party and then quickly disappeared somewhere in the mansion of a house. She has a physics test on Monday, but instead of studying, she's here, _not_ having fun.

She feels the couch dip with added weight, but she doesn't acknowledge the person's presence. She just continues watching everyone else dance like fools to music that is playing at a volume way past what's considered healthy.

"Not having fun?"

Christine lifts her head and turns towards the familiar voice. Her breath catches in her throat. She can smell Kai's aftershave and see herself reflected in his blue-green eyes. She swallows and clears her throat, subtly wiping her palms against her black and grey dress. "Hi," she says, her voice shaking. _You're seventeen, not twelve. Stop being so nervous. He's just a guy. _

"Hi." He smiles at her, which only serves to make the knot in her stomach tighten and grow larger. "Wanna dance?"

She eyes him skeptically. "Wait, what are you doing here? I wouldn't think a high school party would be your thing."

"Yeah, well, I don't have a choice. It's my house."

"Oh. You're Molly's older brother."

"Bingo Bango."

"Even so, why are you here instead of, you know, out with your friends?"

"I was supposed to work tonight, but I switched with someone last minute. All my friends had plans already." He pauses. "So, do you wanna dance?" He asks again, flashing her a smile.

"I'm only seventeen."

"So? It's just a dance. I mean, if you don't want to, that's cool." He starts to get up, but Christine grabs his hand and stands up.

"Let's dance." Suddenly, her lousy night just got a whole lot better.

* * *

An hour later, Christine stumbles and collapses onto the couch. She giggles and shifts, getting into a more comfortable position. "Whew. Dancing is fun."

Kai sits down beside her. "How many cups of punch did you drink?"

She shrugs. "I dunno. Three or four or five. It's good punch Really fruity." She hits him playfully on the arm and laughs. "You wan some?"

"No, I'm not thirsty."

"It's good punch, though. You're missin' out."

"Did you drive here?"

She shakes her head. "Whoa, dizzy. No, my friend drove me. She's, she's somewhere." She waves her hand around and slumps her shoulders.

"Maybe you should go find her and have her take you home. I mean, if she's not totally sloshed."

"But I'm having fun." She brushes her hair out of her face and looks at him. "You have pretty eyes. So pretty." She leans into him and kisses him.

He grabs her shoulders and pushes her back.

She touches his cheek, sliding her finger down to trace his jaw. "Such a strong jaw. So masculine. Me likey," she whispers. "I'm thirsty." She goes to stand up, but loses her balance and falls back down on the couch. "I don't feel so good." She holds her stomach as her face pales.

He quickly reaches for the garbage can by the side table and thrusts it in her direction.

She hugs it and dips her head. She burps and vomit spews from her mouth and clings to the plastic trash bag. She coughs and continues to expel her stomach contents into the can.

He holds her hair back and rubs her back.

A couple minutes later, she leans back and rests her head on the small, square couch pillow, closing her eyes. She groans and swallows, coughing again. Suddenly she sits up and looks around. "Where's Brittany?"

He shrugs. "Do you want me to go find her?"

She nods. "Yeah, go find her, good." She lays back again, her eyes falling shut.

He stands up and sets out to find Brittany.

* * *

Kai searches the group of teenagers congregating in the main living area of the house and then searches the other rooms in the house. Coming up empty inside, he goes outside and turns his head quickly when he hears a horrifying shriek. He runs over, pushing his way through the crowd. He looks down and realizes he's standing in brain matter. Looking more closely at the person laid out on the concrete, he gasps. He kneels down beside the teenage girl and checks for a pulse, knowing full well he isn't going to find one. He looks up and sees a few people glancing down from the balcony above. "Shit," he mutters. He gets up and rushes back into the house, grabbing the phone off the kitchen counter and dialing 9-1-1. He's probably going to be in a boatload of trouble when the police get here, but he doesn't have a choice.

He walks into the living room and sits down on the couch.

Feeling the couch dip again, Christine opens her eyes. Her head is pounding, but her mind is tad bit less hazy. "Hey, did you find Brittany?"

He nods. "Uh, Christine, your friend, she—I think she jumped or fell off my parents' balcony."

"Is she okay?"

He shakes his head. "No. She landed on the concrete. She slammed her head hard. She—she had no pulse. I'm sorry."

She rubs her aching head, staring wide-eyed at him. "No pulse," she repeats under her breath. "You sure it's her? There are lots of people here."

"Yeah, pretty sure." He grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze. "I'm sorry."

Tears spring to her eyes, but she stands up. "Show me."

He shakes his head. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's pretty gross."

"Show me. I don't believe you."

"If you're sure—."

"Show me."

"Okay, okay." He stands and guides her outside.

She collapses onto her knees beside her best friend's life-less, broken body, and grabs her hand. She stays there, tears streaming down her cheeks, for a while, she's not sure how long. The next thing she realizes, she's being picked up and guided through the living room once again, but this time by her mom and dad.


	2. Chapter 1

**_Here's chapter 1...Hope you guys like it :)_**

* * *

Christine's sitting on her window seat, hugging her legs, which are bent and pressed almost flush against her chest. She heaves a sigh and continues to stare into space. She doesn't hear the knock on the door, or chooses to ignore it. She extends her legs and subconsciously picks up the charm of her necklace, a half-heart with a jagged edge and the word 'Best' etched into the stainless steel. She's worn it faithfully since third grade.

The door opens and Brennan steps into her daughter's room. "Sweetheart?"

Christine just shrugs, her eyes glazed over and unfocused, her body turned away from the door.

"Are you ready to go?" Brennan soon realizes that Christine is still wearing her pajamas. She walks over to the window and places a hand on her daughter's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Christine turns her head slowly and finally meets her mother's eyes, which are nearly identical to her own. "No," is her simple, unemotional answer and then she turns away again.

"Your dad is making pancakes…your favorite."

"I'm not hungry."

Brennan lifts her hand and pulls some of her daughter's hair away from her face. "We need to leave soon."

"I'm not going," Christine says, her voice colder and more distant.

"She's your best friend, Honey."

"Was…_was _been my best friend," the teenager corrects. She shifts and brings her legs back to her chest.

Brennan takes a seat on the edge of the bench and sees her daughter clench her jaw in attempt to prevent tears from falling. "Are you sure you don't want to go?"

Christine nods. "Yep," she mutters.

Brennan sighs. "I hope you change your mind."

"I won't."

Brennan rises to her feet, and without a second thought, she bends down and wraps her arms around her daughter. She kisses the top of her head and rubs her arm. "I love you." She pulls back and straightens her shoulders. "We should be home by eleven."

Christine just nods, quickly swatting at her cheek when a tear manages to escape.

Brennan gives Christine's shoulder another gentle squeeze and then leaves the room, to give her daughter some privacy.

The second Christine hears the click of the door shutting, her resolve crumbles. She hugs her legs tighter against her chest and buries her face in her knees, making absolutely no effort to control the tears now. Her shoulders shake with each painful sob and her breathing becomes heavy.

* * *

Brennan returns to the kitchen and catches Booth's eye. She answers his unasked question with a shake of her head and then takes her place at the island counter.

Booth sighs and fixes his tie. He sets a plate of pancakes in front of Brennan and takes her hand when she reaches for her fork. He squeezes and offers her a small smile. "She'll be okay. She's tough."

"I have my doubts, but I applaud your optimism." Her smile back to him is weak, but it's a smile nonetheless. She relinquishes his hand and pushes her plate away. "I told her we'd be downstairs having breakfast if she changes her mind and wishes to attend Brittany's funeral after all, but I don't think she will."

"Give her time, Bones. Remember how you felt when I died?"

"I would rather not," she pauses, "but you weren't actually dead, so how I felt in those two weeks, is irrelevant. Yes, I can understand how she is feeling in this moment, but I have no reference point for how she'll feel tomorrow, or a week from now, or even a month from now."

He's about to open his mouth and say something else, but Gizmo, their one year-old German Shepherd mix, starts barking and takes off for the front door, his claws clacking against the wood floor. He furrows his brows and glances at Brennan, who looks just as confused by their puppy's erratic behavior. He just shrugs and turns back to his wife. "All I'm saying is, Bones, that we need to give her some time to, you know, deal with this. She'll be her old self soon."

"Why do you guys look like you're going to a funeral?"

Booth turns his head at the familiar voice. "Bub, what are you doing here?" He walks over to his son and wraps his arms around him, hugging him with practically all his strength.

"Dad, I can't," Parker squirms, "breathe."

Booth steps back and smiles. "Sorry. I just missed you." He pauses. "So what are you doing here?"

"What? I can't just stop in and say hi? I'm hurt, Dad. I guess, if you don't want me here, I'll just call the airport and bump up my return flight."

Brennan stands up and pulls her stepson into a hug. "We just weren't expecting you, Parker."

"Surprise!" Parker laughs, hugging her back. As he pulls away from her, he nearly gets tackled by Gizmo. "Oomph." He pauses. "Down, Boy." He scratches the puppy behind its ears and pats his head. "Hey, there, Gizmo." He looks up, then back and forth between his dad and stepmom. "So why do you guys look like you're going to a funeral?"

Brennan sighs. "Because we are."

Parker's face suddenly pales. "Who died?"

"Brittany."

"Christine's best friend?"

Brennan nods. "Yes."

"Oh, man. How's she doing?" Parker asks, continuing to scratch Gizmo between his ears.

"She hasn't left her room in six days," Brennan answers and then looks at her watch. "Booth, we should get going."

Booth nods. "Bub, we'll be home around eleven. I made pancakes if you're hungry. Keep an eye on your sister."

Parker nods.

Booth gives his son another hug and smiles. "It's good to have you here."

Parker completes the embrace and nods. "It's good to be here, Dad." He smiles and takes a step back. "Jenna is bummed she couldn't come with me, but her boss is a real, grade-A, jackass. She says hi, though."

Booth and Brennan nod, tell him they'll have time to catch up later, and then leave the house.


	3. Chapter 2

After eating a quick breakfast, Parker makes his way upstairs and down the hall towards his little sister's room. He raises a hand to knock, but the door opens before he has the chance. He takes in his sister's appearance—pajamas, which consist of only an over-sized t-shirt and shorts, hair pulled into a messy bun, tear-stained cheeks—and sighs. "Firefly, I just heard. I'm sorry."

Christine looks up into his brown eyes and can't hide the small smile that appears on her face the instant she realizes it's him. "Parker," she gasps, surprised that he's here.

"Hey, sis." He wipes away the remnants of tears still clinging to her cheeks and kisses the top of her head. "How you doing?"

And just like the smile fades. "I'm fine," Christine dismisses him and walks past him to the bathroom across the hall.

"I saved you some pancakes."

"I'm not hungry." She shuts the bathroom door and turns on the sink faucet.

He sighs. "I'll be in the living room if you need anything, Firefly, okay?"

She doesn't answer him.

He shrugs and heads back downstairs.

* * *

Christine kneels down on the floor and opens the cabinet under the sink. She grabs the glass bottle filled with clear liquid, which she stashed in there yesterday when her parents were at work, and sits on the toilet seat. She stares at the label for a good ten minutes, weighing her options.

While the hangover she had the morning after the party wasn't a pleasant side effect, the feeling she had before then—the euphoria, lowered inhibitions, and the odd warmth in her belly—when she drank cup after cup of spiked punch, outweighed whatever she felt afterwards. Plus, she often saw her mom and dad share a drink or two after a particularly difficult case and afterwards they seem to feel better, so what's to say it won't have the same affect on her.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she untwists the cap and takes a long, hearty sip. It burns her throat and tastes like cherry cough syrup mixed with nail polish remover, but she takes another sip anyway.

She's halfway through the bottle when she hears a car pull into the driveway. She quickly replaces the cap and stands up. She stumbles and reaches for the edge of the counter to keep herself from falling. Her head is spinning, but she does sort of feel better. She stows the bottle back under the sink and splashes some water onto her face. She brushes her teeth and tongue, before she unlocks the bathroom door and clumsily makes her way to her bedroom.

* * *

On the way to his bedroom to change out of his suit, Booth stops in front of his daughter's room. He knocks, but gets no answer. He turns the knob, thankful to find the door unlocked, and pokes his head in. He smiles sadly, seeing Christine asleep on top of her comforter. He steps through the doorway and walks over to the bed. He unfolds the blanket that is draped over the footboard and drapes it over her sleeping form. He leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead. "It's gonna be okay," he whispers. He walks over to the window and closes the blinds, bathing the room in darkness. After taking one last look at her, he leaves the room and continues on to his own.

"Did she talk to you?" Brennan asks, walking into their room. She reaches behind her and unzips her black dress.

"She's asleep." He hangs up his tie and unbuttons his dress shirt.

"Well, I suppose that's good." She slips out of her dress, the fabric pooling at her feet. She walks over to the closet and grabs a shirt and a pair of jeans. "I'm still worried about her, though. She's usually so happy and talkative. This silence is very unnerving."

He nods, changing into a t-shirt and jeans. "I know, Bones." He pulls her into a hug, pressing a kiss into her hair.

She rests her head against his shoulder and wraps her arms around him, nodding.

They stay like that for a little while longer before they go downstairs.

* * *

Christine wakes up at six and groans, now fully aware of the excruciating pain in her head. She sits up slowly and rubs the sleep from her eyes. She clears her throat and swallows, wincing. She tears off the blanket and slowly leaves her room. She walks into the bathroom and opens the medicine cabinet. She swallows two aspirin with water and rubs her pulsating temples. She squints at the fluorescent lights, which are making her headache ten times worse, and after emptying her bladder, she heads back into the hallway, nearly tripping over Gizmo. "Giz, what the heck?" She pets him and walks around him, disappearing down the stairs.

Brennan's in the kitchen tossing a salad when Christine walks in. "Honey, you're awake."

Christine rubs her forehead and grabs a cup from the cabinet. She fills it with water and sits down at the island, drinking her water slowly. "Yeah."

"Everything okay?"

Christine nods. "I'm fine. I just have a little headache."

"Are you hungry? Your dad and brother are outside, grilling hamburgers."

Christine shrugs. "I'm just gonna have a bowl of cereal."

Brennan transfers the salad to a porcelain bowl and nods. "The service was beautiful, Sweetheart. I wish you would have come."

Parker walks in with a plate of burgers and smiles at his little sister. "Look who decided to grace us with her presence," he teases, setting the plate on the island. "You look like crap, Firefly."

Christine rolls her eyes. "I look better than you."

Parker dramatically clutches his chest. "Ouch. That hurt, Little Sis."

Brennan takes three plates out of the cabinet and sets them down on the island. "Michael Vincent called six times today. I think you should call him back. He's worried about you, Honey." She pauses. "Also, some boy named Kai called asking for you. I wrote his number by the phone."

Christine just shrugs and nods.

"We ready to—? Princess, hey." Booth grins, walking over and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "That was some nap." He pauses. "You joining us for dinner?"

"No. I'm just gonna have cereal and start on my summer reading. I've got a ton of it."

"Okay." Booth gives her another kiss and pulls open the bread drawer, grabbing the hamburger buns. "We ready to eat?"

Christine pours some Fruit Loops into a bowl with milk and grabs a spoon, taking her cereal into the living room while Booth, Brennan, and Parker sit at the island and have dinner.

* * *

_**In case you're wondering, I'm thinking this story will be about ten-twelve chapters long.**_


	4. Chapter 3

A little over a week later, Christine's sitting on the toilet seat in the hall bathroom, wrapped in a towel, her auburn hair wet and lying in natural waves against her shoulders. In her hands, she's clutching another bottle, this one filled a little less than halfway with amber liquid. She brushes her thumb over the faded label and breathes in the steam of the still running shower.

She sloshes the liquid around for a minute or two and then heaves a sigh. She lifts the bottle to her lips and allows the room temperature liquid to slide down her throat. She coughs as it burns her esophagus and swallows hard. She shakes her head and swallows again, before taking another sip.

She stops suddenly when she hears footfalls outside the bathroom door followed by a knock.

"Honey, Michael Vincent's on the phone. Should I tell him you'll call him back?"

"Hold on, Mom." Christine replaces the cork and shuffles around, storing the bottle under the sink. She adjusts the towel and turns off the shower. She unlocks the door and opens it. She forces a smile and takes the phone from her mom.

Brennan gives her daughter a small smile and then heads back downstairs.

Christine shuts door, locks it, and then sit back down on the toilet. "Hey."

Michael Vincent breathes out, thankful to hear his best friend's voice. _"Where have you been?" _He asks, his tone a mix of anger and concern.

"I've been around. I'm sorry I haven't called you back. I've had other…things on my mind."

_"Yeah, I know. You and Brit were close, I get it. If something happened to you, I'd lock myself in my room too." _He sighs. _"I have the day off today. You wanna do something?"_

"Uh." She rubs her temples and shrugs.

_"We could go to the park and skip rocks. It's been years since we've done that." _He pauses. _"You still there?"_

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry." She tugs on the top of the towel, still thinking about his offer.

_"Well, do you wanna hang out today or not? We could grab breakfast at the diner first."_

After another minute or two of internal debate, she nods. "I'll be ready in an hour."

_"Great. I'll pick you up at 11. I got my fancy new wheels last week. Candy apple red, Baby."_

She laughs, hearing the smile in his voice. "See ya later." She hangs up and stands, staggering forward slightly, the effects of the alcohol beginning to set in. She sets the phone on the edge of the counter and splashes her face with water. She quickly brushes her teeth and walks across the hall to get dressed for the day.

* * *

Christine walks down the stairs and turns, making her way into the living room. "Hey, Gizzy," she calls to the puppy, who's curled up on his bed in the corner, chewing on a stuffed duck squeaker toy.

Gizmo lifts his head in response and then goes back to his toy.

She continues into the kitchen and grabs a water bottle from the refrigerator. She places the portable phone in its base on the counter and sits down at the island, pulling out her cell. Her stomach clenches when she catches a glimpse of her lock-screen image—a picture of her and Brittany sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, taken about three months ago on Brittany's seventeenth birthday. She sighs and punches in her pass-code. She really needs to change the picture, but she can't bring herself to do it—not yet.

Brennan walks into the kitchen and smiles. "Are you going out?"

Christine jumps, startled by her mom's sudden appearance. "Uh, yeah. Michael and I are going to the diner for breakfast and then probably going to the park to skip rocks."

"That sounds like fun." Brennan squeezes her daughter's shoulder as she walks over to the dishwasher.

Christine slips off the stool when she hears a honk outside. "That's him now. I'm not sure when I'll be home."

"Have a good time, Sweetheart, and call or text us if you go anywhere besides the diner and the park and if you're going to be out longer than three hours."

"Will do, Mom." Christine waves and rushes past her dad, who is heading towards the kitchen, on her way to the front door.

"Whoa, where's she going in such a hurry?" Booth grabs the folded newspaper and opens it, grabbing the sports' section and discarding the rest on the kitchen table.

"She's going to the diner with Michael Vincent and then they're going to the park to skip rocks in the pond."

"It'll do her some good to get out of the house for a couple hours." He gives Brennan a quick peck on the lips. "You have any plans for today, Bones?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Do I?"

He sits at the island and opens up the section of the newspaper in his hand. "Not sure." He pauses. "It's been awhile since we've just chilled at home. What do you say? You up for a lazy Saturday?"

She looks at him skeptically, giving his suggestion some thought.

"Or we could plant that garden you've been talking about for a month now. Well, you can plant the garden and I can supervise."

"I suppose so." She finishes unloading the dishwasher and smiles at him. "I'll make a list of things we need to buy and possible things we could plant. I need to do some more research first, though. Perhaps, give Hodgins a call, as well." She leaves the kitchen and disappears behind her office door.

He shakes his head and goes back to reading the sports' section.

* * *

Meanwhile, Christine walks outside and down the front walk and steps. She hops into the front passenger seat of Michael Vincent's red, '55 Thunderbird and buckles her seatbelt.

Michael smiles at her and runs his hand across the dashboard "Sweet, right?"

She drapes her arm over the side and nods. "Yeah."

"I've been saving up for this baby for months now. Finally had enough cash to fix 'er up too." He shifts into drive and pulls away from the curb. "So the diner?"

She nods. "Sure." She fiddles with the radio dials, trying to find a station with some decent music, and then leans back in the seat, turning her head.

When she's facing forward again, he rests his arm on the center console and turns his hand so his palm is facing upwards.

She catches the movement out of the corner of her eye and turns her head towards him. Her eyes drift between him and his hand, before settling on his hand. She places her hand in his and allows their fingers to intertwine. She feels him give their clasped hands a gentle squeeze, but she doesn't squeeze back.

He only lets go when he pulls up to the diner and needs both his hands to park the car. He turns the key and removes it from the ignition, slipping it into his pocket. "I have something for you."

She removes her seatbelt in slow-motion, watching him pull something from between the door and the side of his seat.

He holds up a little stuffed teddy bear and hands it to her.

She takes the teddy bear and stares at it, pressure building up behind her eyes. "Wha—what's this for?"

"My best friend's hurting. I just thought she'd like something soft to hug." He pauses. "I mean, for the times I'm not there of course," he teases. "I couldn't find a dolphin, so I went with a bear." He smiles, sadly. "You okay?"

She nods. "Yeah. I just—I have a headache."

"You're probably just hungry. C'mon." He opens his car door and gets out. He walks around the front of the car and holds out his hand for her.

She doesn't take. She stands up and shuts the door, trying not to slam it.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving," he states, locking up the car.

She just nods silently and walks towards the diner.

"Hey, wait for me." He chases after her, catching up just before she crosses the street. "Is everything okay, Tine?"

Her stomach lurches at the nickname and she stops in the middle of the crosswalk. A car honks, startling her, but she doesn't move.

He guides her the rest of the way and stands in front of her. He brushes his thumb across her right cheekbone, whisking away a lone tear as it drips from her shining eyes. "Hey, Little B, it's okay." He pulls her into a hug and holds her, not caring how weird this looks to passersby. "It's okay," he whispers into her hair.

She pulls back and swats at her cheeks, rubbing her eyes. She clears her throat and looks up at him. "I just want to go home. Can you drive me home? I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't be. C'mon."

The two of them walk back to the car and head back to Christine's house.

* * *

Michael walks Christine to her front door and waits until she's inside before turning around and heading back to his car. He lingers in front of the house for a couple minutes before he finally pulls into the street and drives away.

Christine runs up the steps and disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it quickly. She flips on the faucet and kneels down in front of the cabinet. She opens the door and reaches in, grabbing the bottle. Rather than standing up, she just scoots back against the tub wall and bends her knees. The stuffed teddy bear seems to be mocking her as it stares at her from its perch on the counter. She uncorks the bottle and takes a long, satisfying sip. The liquid barely burns her throat this time.

She continues to take sip after sip until her vision blurs and her hands start to shake. She tries and fails to replace the cork a few times before she finally succeeds. She stores the bottle back under the sink and pulls herself up with the aid of the counter. She sways back and forth, but manages to keep herself upright. She brushes her teeth again, attempting to mask the taste of the alcohol, and makes her way across the hall to her bedroom undetected—at least that's what she thinks.


	5. Chapter 4

After hearing the click of his little sister's bedroom door, Parker walks into the hall bathroom. He shuts the door and locks it before kneeling down and opening up the cabinet under the sink. He figures there are only two good places to hide a bottle of liquor—here or the cabinet above the toilet—so he looks here first. He knows it's here. It has to be. He's seen his share of intoxicated people—he's twenty eight after all, plus his wife was a bartender when he first met her in college—and his sister was definitely a little tipsy, that much he could tell.

He finds the nearly empty glass bottle and looks at the label. Finding what he came in here searching for, he gets up, taking the bottle with him to his old bedroom, which had been turned into a guestroom when he moved out years ago. He sits on the edge of his bed and sighs, unsure what to do about his discovery. He's leaving tomorrow morning, so he could say nothing, but then he runs the risk of his Dad being mad at him for knowing and keeping it to himself and also he'll blame himself if something happens to his baby sister because he didn't confront her. He could tell Brennan and his Dad, but then Christine may never speak to him again. He could also tell her he knows and try and help her work through all this, but she'll probably just ignore him or tell him to mind his own business. He's stuck. He wishes now that he never saw any of this.

He makes up his mind and grabs the bottle off his nightstand. He leaves the room and knocks on Christine's door. He waits a few seconds before he knocks again. He tries the doorknob and finds it locked. Resigning to try again later, he retreats back to his room, hiding the bottle of scotch under his bed.

* * *

Later that night, Booth knocks on his daughter's bedroom door and waits for her to open it. He's about to knock again when he hears shuffling on the other side, so he steps back and smiles when the door finally opens, revealing a disheveled looking teenager.

Christine rubs her eyes, trying to relieve some of the pressure, and looks up at her dad. She brushes her messy hair out of her face and swallows. "Yeah?"

He adjusts the box in his hand and nods. "Mrs. Gear came by and dropped this off for you earlier. It's a box of things from Brittany's bedroom that her mom thought you'd want."

She feels her chest tighten, a slight twinge resulting. She nods and motions for him to put the box in her room.

"Do you want help going through some of this stuff?"

She shakes her head. "No-o." Her voice catches.

"Okay, Princess." She pauses. "Your mom and I didn't hear you come in. How was your day with Michael?"

"It was fine," she lied. It wasn't much of a day. It was more like twenty minutes. She feels her stomach gurgle and then it flips. She swallows, willing the acid back down.

"Are you okay? You look a little pale."

She nods, keeping her lips pursed and avoiding eye contact. "Mmhmm."

"Since it's Parker's last night in town, we're all gonna go out to eat, so be ready in, eh, thirty minutes."

She brushes past him and locks herself in the bathroom.

He whips his head around and cringes when he hears retching. He knocks on the door. "Princess, are you okay?" The only sound he hears is the toilet flushing. "I'll leave this box in your room." He walks across the hall and sets the box down on top of her desk. As he's walking back out, he hears something crinkle under his foot. He looks down and sees a torn piece of notebook paper on the floor. He bends down and picks it up, unfolding it. He reads it to himself and furrows his brown. "I know." _Who knows what? _He shrugs and sets the paper on the desk as well.

Christine's still in the bathroom when he heads back into the hallway and goes downstairs.

* * *

**_Thanks...you guys are awesome!_**


	6. Chapter 5

**_So sorry for the wait...I was contemplating whether or not to continue this story, but I had this chapter written for a while, so I just decided to post it...hope you like it :)_**

* * *

After her stomach calms down, Christine leans against the wall and closes her eyes. She takes in a breath and exhales slowly. She swallows, twisting her lips in response to the bitter taste in her mouth. She rubs her temples and forehead, willing the tense ache to disappear. She's pretty sure her dad went back downstairs, but she'll give it another minute anyway—just in case. Plus, that should give her head a chance to stop spinning and her stomach to settle a little more.

A minute later, she pushes herself up to her feet and lets out a sigh. She gargles with some mouthwash, splashes water on her pale face, and grabs hold of the doorknob. She inhales deeply and exhales as she turns the knob and opens the door. She steps into the hall and walks into her bedroom.

* * *

Parker, who's standing in his bedroom doorway, sees her exit the bathroom and disappear into her room, the door shutting behind her. He grabs the bottle he swiped earlier and casually walks up to his sister's bedroom door. He balls his hand into a fist and knocks twice in quick succession.

Inside, Christine ignores the medium sized cardboard box on her desk and grabs the torn piece of paper she sees lying beside it. Being curious, she unfolds it and scans the writing she finds there. It's in her brother's scrawl, she quickly realizes. She gasps, reading the two words over and over again_. What does he know? What could he possibly know? _She crumples the paper, throwing it in the trash, and then climbs up onto her window seat. She hugs the teddy bear Michael got her that morning and stares out into the backyard. She can hear the knocks, but she chooses to ignore them.

He knocks again and leans in closer to the door. "Firefly, I wanna talk to you."

She sighs and sets the stuffed bear down. She slips out of the window and pads over to her door. She unlocks the door and opens it just enough to see her brother, but not enough for him to enter the room. "What?"

He holds up the bottle in his hand and raises an eyebrow. "Any idea of how this got under the sink in your bathroom?"

"Never seen that before."

"Bull." He pauses, lowering his voice. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm fine, Parker."

He brushes a lock of her hair away from her cheek and sighs. "Little Sis, please, I wanna help."

"You wanna help?"

He nods. "Yeah. I love you and you're obviously hurting right now. Please, tell me what I can do."

"You can help by…minding your own business." She shuts the door and retreats back to the window.

"Well, that went…exactly how I thought it would," he mutters. He steps closer to the door and knocks once more. "Firefly, I just want you to know that I'm here. I may live in California, but I'm always gonna be here for you. If you need to talk, I'll be here to listen, okay? You can call me whenever." With that, he heads back into the guestroom to change and get ready for dinner.

* * *

All throughout dinner, Parker's unusually quiet. He spins his fork in his spaghetti constantly, but has only taken a few bites of it. He's also been staring down at the bowl, only looking up when directly spoken to.

Brennan takes a sip of her water and glances at her stepson, heaving a sigh. "Parker, is everything alright?" Getting no response, she sets her glass down and places her hand over his. "Parker?"

Parker lifts his eyes to meet hers and nods. "Everything's fine, Bones." He's not very convincing.

She narrows her eyes and pats his hand. "You must be missing Jenna terribly."

He nods. "Yeah, that's it, I just miss her, but she's picking me up at the airport tomorrow, so—." He trails off, pulling his hand away from Brennan and picking up his glass of coke.

She dabs the corners of her mouth the napkin on her lap and then looks at him pointedly. "I've known you since you were four, so I know when you're lying to me."

"No, Bones, I really miss Jenna. This is the longest we've been apart since we started dating."

"I don't doubt you miss your wife, but you're keeping something from me. You're lying by omission. Now, what _else_ is bothering you?"

Booth chooses that moment to return from the restroom. He takes his seat beside Brennan and looks between the two. "What'd I miss?"

Brennan ignores the question and turns her focus back to Parker. "Honey, something is obviously upsetting you. You've barely said more than three words since we've sat down to dinner and you've hardly touched your food, both of which are very odd behaviors for you."

Parker sighs. "I can't tell you."

"What can't you tell us?" Booth jumps in.

_She's gonna hate me…well that's better than letting the problem persist, isn't it? At least she'll be alive to hate you. _After weighing the options again in his head, he nods and takes a deep, calming breath, letting it out slowly, preparing himself. "I—I found—Christine's—."

Booth and Brennan exchange looks, confused at what Parker's trying to tell them.

_Just say it already. _"Is your bottle of good scotch missing, Dad?"

Booth nods. "Yes, actually it is. I figured we finished it and I forgot. How did you know?"

Parker looks down at his pasta and swallows hard. "I found it."

"What are you trying to say, Parker?" Brennan prompts.

Parker sighs. "I found it under the sink in the hall bathroom—Christine's bathroom."

Booth's eyes widen when he understands what Parker's implying.

Brennan rests her hand on her partner's arm and swallows.

"I confronted her, but she denied it, and then she told me to mind my own business, which I figured she would. I saw her stumbling out of the bathroom and I've seen enough and been drunk enough times to see the signs, so I went into the bathroom and found the bottle under the sink. It was just about empty."

"She has been suffering from an excessive amount of headaches recently and when I took her to the supermarket the other day, she was sweating and her hands were shaking. It was hot, so I didn't think much of it at the time, but—."

Booth hangs his head and scrubs his face with his hands. "I should have seen it. I should have known," he mumbles.

"She's very adept at hiding it, Booth."

"My dad was an alcoholic, okay, Bones? _I_ should have known. All the signs were there. I just missed them."

"She's your daughter. We miss things we don't want to believe are true in people we love." She squeezes his shoulder and moves her hand down, rubbing his shoulder blade. "Perhaps you should take a walk, Booth."

"How are you so calm right now?"

She drops her hand and twists her torso, so she's facing him. "I am _not_ calm, Booth. I'm her mother. I should have been able to tell something, other than the fact that her best friend just died, was bothering her, but I didn't. I didn't. I'm her mother, I should have known, so don't accuse me of taking this lightly because I am not calm."

Booth blinks, reaching out to take her hand, but she pulls it away at the last second.

"She's my daughter and she's hurting worse than I thought she was, but there's nothing I can do to make that hurt go away. I wish I could take her pain away, but I can't. I just seem to make it worse. I don't know what to do, Booth. She needs to _want_ help. We can't force her to get it."

"This is my fault."

"How is this your fault?"

"My dad was an alcoholic, I was a chronic gambler. Addiction runs on my side of the family, not yours. This is my fault."

"Yes, addiction is sometimes hereditary, but that doesn't mean this is your fault, Booth. It's not."

"See, what you just said right there, Bones, that doesn't actually make me feel better. You basically said that it _is_ my fault. Nice try, though. I'll give you an 'A' for effort."

She sighs.

Parker sighs, pushing his plate away. "So what? We're just going to watch her drink herself into oblivion? Who cares if she doesn't _want_ help? She needs it."

"If she doesn't want it, Parker, whatever we do to help will be a wasted effort." Brennan pauses. "Your dad was still gambling when he was attending meetings two or three times a week, and by then he had already admitted he had a problem. Christine's not there yet and we can't force her to get there faster. It doesn't work like that."

"So we do nothing? Is that what you're saying? 'Cause that's what I'm hearing."

"If we push her before she's ready, we may risk causing more damage. We can't do _nothing_, but I just don't know what else to do."

"You'd think seeing your best friend's brain splattered on concrete would be enough motivation to quit drinking or never start in the first place."

"People deal with grief differently."

"You'll keep me updated, right? I don't want to leave her right now, but I have to get back home for work."

Brennan nods. "Of course."

"I'll try and call once a week or twice a month, at least."

Brennan nods.

"I think I'm just gonna head back to the house and go to sleep. I have an early flight tomorrow and I'm not very hungry."

"Drive safely."

Parker stands up and gives Booth and Brennan a hug.

"Oh, and Parker?"

Parker stops, turning back around to face Brennan. "Yeah, Bones?"

"Thanks for telling us. I know it must have been difficult for you."

"I feel like I betrayed her, but at the same time, I know it was the right thing to do."

"She'll forgive you. She loves you."

"I hope. I love her too." Parker smiles and exits the restaurant.

* * *

Brennan turns to Booth and gives his shoulder another squeeze. "You're awfully quiet."

Booth shrugs. "She's my little girl, Bones. I can't—I don't want to believe what Parker said is true, you know?"

She nods, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. "I know." She pauses. "What do you think we should do? You have more experience in this area than I do."

He looks at her, narrowing his eyes.

"It's a fact. I'm not—I've upset you."

He sighs. "I don't know what to do either." He tilts his head, resting it against hers, and closes his eyes. "We can't just do _nothing_, though."

"We could confront her, inform her that we know. That seems like a logical first step. It may make things worse, but so will doing nothing."

He nods. "I'm tired. Let's go home. We can talk about this tomorrow."

"Okay." She takes his hand and weaves their fingers together. "We'll get through this, Booth—she'll get through this."

He turns his head and meets her lips halfway; she closes the gap. He breaks the kiss and smiles softly. "I hope you're right."

"What's your gut telling you?"

"It must be malfunctioning right now."

She places a hand on his chest and looks into his eyes. "What's your heart telling you, then?"

"It's telling me that she'll be okay—eventually."


	7. Chapter 6

_**Sorry for the delay :)**_

* * *

Two and a half months later, Brennan's sitting in her office at work and looking down at a file that's open on her desk. She's seeing the words and the information, but she's not actually reading it. She closes her eyes for a second and lets out a breath. As she blinks them open again, there's a knock on her door. Without looking, she knows who's there. She would know her knock anywhere. "Hello, Angela. Did you finish that reconstruction?" She asks, finally looking up and finding her best friend staring at her, her lips taught and her dark eyes filled with concern. "Is something wrong?"

Angela shrugs and steps closer to Brennan's desk, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't know; you tell me."

Brennan sets down the pen she has in her hand and raises an eyebrow. "If I knew if something was wrong with you, I wouldn't have asked, Ange."

Angela's silent for a while and then she sits down and looks her best friend square in the face. "Michael says Christine's acting weird."

"Acting weird how?"

"He says she doesn't talk to him much at school anymore and she hasn't been in Advanced Statistics, the one class they have together, for two weeks now. Bren, what's going on? Is everything okay between you and Booth? Because they say problems at home can be a reason why kids to act out."

"Booth and I are fine, Ange, and we're handling it."

"Handling what, Sweetie? Talk to me. What's going on? Is Christine okay?"

Brennan just shakes her head. "No, she's not, but this is a family matter. It's none of your business."

"Sweetie."

"I can't talk about this, Ange."

Angela stands and walks behind the desk. She leans over and gives Brennan a quick hug. "I'm here if you need to talk, Bren…about anything."

"I know."

Angela starts to walk towards the door and is about to open it when Brennan tells her to stop. She turns around and lets go of the handle.

Brennan swallows. "It's getting worse, Ange, and—and I don't know what to do."

Angela quickly locks the door and heads back over to the desk. "What's getting worse?"

"Christine, she's been drinking."

"Alcohol?"

Brennan nods. "Yes."

"Oh, wow, I didn't expect that."

"Did I do something wrong? Maybe I've been too focused on my work. Maybe I didn't spend enough time with her when she was younger and more impressionable."

"Sweetie, this isn't your fault. You're a great mother."

"Booth's taking this hard. He blames himself. His father drank, you know."

Angela nods. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since Brittany died, I suppose, so three months. She's already pulling away from both of us and I'm afraid of pushing her farther away. If I confront her, it will just end badly. I tried talking to her, but she _wasn't feeling well_, so she just told me to get out of her room. She was so angry. I kept trying to talk to her, to ask her if she was all right, but she physically pushed me out of her room and slammed the door in my face." Brennan blinks back tears and clears her throat. "I'm losing her, Ange, and Booth can barely look at her, though he's trying to act like everything is fine. He loves her, I know, and he wants to help, I just don't think he knows what to do—neither of us does."

"It's that bad?"

Brennan nods.

"Sweetie, I think it's time to consider outside help."

Brennan leans back in her chair and tilts her head, closing her eyes and heaving a sigh, a single tear escaping. "I know," she says, her voice breaking and moisture pooling behind her lids.

"Does Parker know?"

"He's the one who told us. He's been calling, asking about Christine, asking to talk to her, but she—she and him used to be so close, but now, now she's always too busy to speak to him."

"She's lying."

"Yes." Brennan swallows. "She's always been a great kid, Ange. I don't understand any of this. I know—Sweets says she's trying to forget what happened to Brittany and that all these changes are just a result of the alcohol and not permanent changes in her personality."

"And you don't believe him?"

"You know how I feel about psychology, but I _do_ believe him. The girl I see, she's not my daughter. It's irrational, I know, but—." Brennan sighs.

Angela looks at her best friend sympathetically. "She's still your daughter, Bren; she's just in trouble."

"I wish I could help her. I love her so much. There has to be something more I can do. I'm her mother. I wish I could just make her better, but I can't. When she was little, all I had to do was kiss her physical wounds or just kiss her forehead and she'd feel better. It was illogical, but it made her feel better. I wish I could just kiss her and she'd be okay."

Angela's about to respond, but gets interrupted by Brennan's phone.

Brennan straightens up and picks up the phone after the second ring. She swats at her cheeks and clears her throat before answering it with a weak, "Dr. Brennan." Her eyes widen. "Michael, slow down."

Angela sits up more and blinks, her interest peaked.

Brennan struggles to stand, the phone still to her ear. She frantically looks around for her jacket and purse, only to realize they're hanging up on the hook. "Good, good, just, just stay there and wait for the paramedics."

_Paramedics? _"Bren?"

Brennan hurries into her jacket, still holding the phone and talking to a hysterical eighteen-year-old. "I—I'm on my way." She can hear the sirens and then she blinks slowly, her heart racing. "You did the right thing, Michael. I'll be there soon." She hangs up and looks at Angela. "Michael's fine, Ange; it's—it's—."

"Christine?"

Brennan nods. "She's—Michael found her," she swallows, "unconscious under the bleachers."

"Oh, Sweetie. Is she okay?"

Brennan shrugs. "I—I have to call Booth and—the ambulance just got there and—I don't know."

Angela pulls Brennan into a hug and fully embraces her.

Brennan hesitates, but wraps her arms around her best friend for a few briefs seconds. She pulls away and shakes her head. "I have to call Booth. Michael called him first, but he didn't answer. I have to get a hold of him. He's—I think he had a meeting earlier. He should be in his office now. I'll just go call him and—."

"Sweetie, you need to breathe. Christine's going to be fine. Come on, I'll drive you to the hospital. You can call Booth on the way."

"But the reconstruction—."

"The reconstruction can wait, Bren."

Brennan nods and follows Angela out of the office.

* * *

Cam's just coming out of her own office when she spots two of her employees leaving. "Where are you two going? It isn't lunchtime, is it? Because if it is, I really lost track of time," she says, glancing at her watch.

"Not now, Cam," Angela says, holding up her hand to silence the pathologist.

Cam looks from Angela to Brennan and notices right away how distraught the anthropologist seems. She just nods. "Will you be returning to work?"

"I will, but Brennan won't be."

"Ange, I—."

Angela cuts Brennan off. "Like I said, I'll be back later, but Brennan will need the rest of the day off and tomorrow too."

Cam nods. She'll get an explanation from Angela later, she's sure. If not, she can always call Booth. He'll probably know what's wrong. Without another word, she walks away, sliding her card and making her way onto the platform.

Angela ushers Brennan out of the Lab, out of the Jeffersonian, and into the parking garage. "Christine's going to be fine."

"I—I have to call Booth," Brennan repeats, unable to think of anything else at the moment.

"I know, Sweetie." Angela drapes an arm around her best friend's shoulders and guides her towards her car. She makes sure Brennan's settled in the passenger seat before she hops into the driver's side.

Brennan fumbles with her phone and then presses number one on her speed dial, followed by the send button, effectively calling Booth's cell.

Angela sighs and starts the car. She puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the parking spot and then out of the garage. A few minutes after leaving the garage, she starts to drive some miles per hour above the speed limit, seeing that her best friend is getting increasingly distressed, especially after her conversation with Booth. They'll be at the hospital soon and they'll find out that everything is fine…she hopes.

* * *

**_Three more chapters left (including an epilogue)...I hope to get the next chapter up this weekend_**

**_Thanks for reading! Reviews are very much appreciated :)_**


	8. Chapter 7

Brennan's sitting in an uncomfortable, plastic chair in the waiting room, her head bowed as she checks her emails on her phone. Her eyes are glossed over with unshed tears and her heart is pounding. She's already dropped her cell twice because her hands are shaking so badly. Her chest feels tight and constricts even more every time she takes in a breath.

Angela looks from her distraught son to her best friend and places her hand on Brennan's. "Sweetie, you're off the clock right now. I'm pretty sure you get a free pass to be a little late in replying to emails."

Brennan looks over at Angela and just shakes her head before her eyes become trained on her phone again.

"Where is she?" Booth rushes through the automatic doors and pushes his way through a group of people gathered nearby.

Brennan lifts her head at the sound of his voice and shoots up. She practically runs him over as she collapses against his chest, her arms wrapping tightly around him. She buries her face in his shoulders and allows the tears to finally fall.

Booth blinks and takes a fumbling step back, having not been prepared for her tackle hug. He completes the embrace and gently rubs circles on her back with a flat palm. He rests his cheek against her hair and tightens his hold on her, his own cheeks wet with tears. "I'm here, Bones. Shhhh." His voice shakes as he attempts to soothe her and he feels his knees going weak as he thinks about the reason they're here, the reason his partner is currently sobbing into his neck.

Brennan drops her arms and steps back. She sniffles and swats at her cheeks, keeping her eyes closed for another couple seconds. She blinks and looks up at him, giving him a faint smile.

He caresses her damp cheek with his thumb and leans over, pressing a kiss to her forehead, one arm still looped around her midsection. "What happened?"

She shrugs. "I," she clears her throat and sniffles, "I don't know. The doctor refused to let me back there."

"She broke one of the nurses' noses because she tried to physically restrain Bren," Angela added.

"Stay here." Booth kisses her cheek and walks away.

Brennan swallows and both watches and listens as her partner has a heated exchange with a woman behind the counter. She looks away briefly and sees the doctor, who told her she wasn't allowed to follow them, approach them. She glances back at Booth and sighs. "Booth."

Her voice is faint, but he hears her and stalks back over to her. "Apparently she's immune to my usual techniques for getting answers."

She places her hand on his forearm when the doctor, a middle-aged man with a crooked nose, black hair that has way too much gel in it, and dark-brown, beady eyes, makes it over to them.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Carr." He clears his throat and motions for them to take a seat. He sits down opposite them and straightens his shoulders. "Christine is stable. She had a blood alcohol level of .35 percent upon arrival at the hospital."

Brennan gasps and reaches for Booth's hand.

Booth blinks, grasping for his partner's hand.

Dr. Carr nods and continues, "Which is very dangerous. She is intubated to help her breathe and intravenous fluids are being administered to keep her hydrated and flush the alcohol from her system. Her body temperature is being regulated with heating blankets and her heart rate is being monitored closely."

Brennan leans into Booth and lets out a shaky breath. "Can we see her now?" The two of them stand and she looks at Angela.

"Go, Sweetie. I'm going to take Michael Vincent to the lab. Keep me posted. We'll come by whenever you guys get home."

Brennan smiles and turns back to the doctor.

"Yes, of course." Dr. Carr stands and shows them to the room they transferred Christine to.

* * *

Just before they enter the room, Dr. Carr turns to Booth and Brennan and clears his throat. "Have there been any monumental changes in Christine's life recently?"

Booth and Brennan share a look and then turn back to the doctor; they both nod. "Her best friend died three months ago after she fell from a sixteen foot balcony," Brennan answers and feels Booth squeeze her hand.

"I see. I only ask because I've been a physician for over twenty years now and usually when a teen comes into the ER exhibiting symptoms of alcohol poisoning as severe as your daughter's, there is an underlying reason behind the alcohol consumption that has little to do with normal rebellion or stresses of maturing." Dr. Carr pauses. "Has she said anything to the two of you?"

Brennan shakes her head. "No, but her older brother has."

Dr. Carr hands them a business card and smiles softly at the pair. "This is the name of an excellent local rehabilitation program. It's an inpatient program and there are both short-term and long-term treatment options."

Booth takes the card from the doctor and looks at it. They haven't necessarily ignored or denied how much trouble Christine is in, but standing outside her hospital room while her doctor discusses possible solutions, it makes this whole situation more real. He sighs and lowers his head, slightly ashamed that he and his partner couldn't help their daughter combat her demons on their own.

"I apologize for prying. It's just underage drinking is no joke and I take it very seriously. If your daughter would have arrived at the hospital any later than she did, there's a good chance she wouldn't have survived."

Brennan's knees buckle and she clings to Booth to keep herself from collapsing.

"She's a beautiful girl. I'll come by later to check on her." Dr. Carr smiles again and leaves them to enter the room alone.

Brennan hesitates, holding the handle down.

Booth places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes.

She turns around and looks up at him. "I feel like I've failed her, Booth. Maybe we went about this the wrong way. Maybe I should have forced her to get help the second Parker told us or forced her to speak to me."

He pulls her from the door and hugs her.

She tucks her head under his chin and wraps her arms around him once again.

"We, Bones, we've both failed her." He pauses. "But there's no point in beating ourselves up about it. You know how many times I thought about the maybes and what ifs when I was growing up? Even when I was living with Pops, I still constantly thought about what if I had just tried harder to get my old man to see what the drinking did to him, did to my brother, to me, to my mom. You know how many times that actually helped the situation? None. It never did. All it did was cause me to hate myself more." He sighs and pulls back, his hands resting on her hips. "It doesn't matter what we didn't do that lead us here; what matters is what we're going to do now. I've—I admit I've been inside my head for months now, beating myself up about all of this, but it's time I follow my own advice. Yeah, Christine's been making some stupid mistakes recently and she could have," he swallows, "things could have gone worse today, but she's my little girl and I love her. She's hurting right now and beating myself up is not going to help her."

She nods.

He brushes her hair away from her cheek, skimming the pad of her thumb across her skin. He rests his hand there and dips his chin, pressing his lips against her forehead. He breathes in her sweet scent and exhales in her hair. "We'll get through this, Bones. She's strong."

She holds his wrists, as his hands frame her face, and looks up at him. "You're right."

He can't even take pleasure in her admitting he's right. It's such a rarity, but he just can't bring himself to be happy about it, not now. "Let's go inside."

She turns around and opens the door, stepping into the room.

* * *

Booth follows Brennan, passing a nurse who smiles at them on her way out. He pulls over the chair by the window and motions for her to sit down.

She takes him up on her offer and sinks into the leather chair. She picks up her daughter's hand, the coldness and clamminess of it, startling her. She blinks and glances at Christine's pale, calm face.

Just as the doctor had said, the teenager is intubated. She's also pale, her cheeks void of their usual rosy color.

Booth steps to the side of the chair and rests his hand on Brennan's shoulder. He finally lifts his eyes to look at his daughter and his chest tightens. He sends a silent prayer up to God and then his eyes fall back to Christine's face.

Brennan sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly, reaching up and grabbing hold of Booth's hand, squeezing it. "Honey, it's mom. We're here. I want you to know that we're not angry with you. Just rest and when you're ready, come back to us, please."

Booth leans over and drops a kiss on Brennan's head. "We love you, Princess, and like your mom said, we're here for you."

Brennan closes her eyes, still holding both Booth's and Christine's hands. The tightness in her chest has lessoned some now that she sees her daughter is stable, but her heart is still racing. She feels the uncomfortable pressure behind her tired ears, as more tears threaten to well up and escape. As the silence grows, only to be broken up with the steady beep of the monitor and rhythmic click of the ventilator, her resolve crumbles and the tears fall. She leans her head against Booth's side and turns her face into his suit jacket.

He sighs and shifts positions, pulling her up to her feet and sitting in her place. He opens his arms and she sits on his lap and curls her body into him, as if she were a little girl seeking the comfort of her father. "It's gonna be okay, I promise." He prays it's a promise he can keep.

* * *

Three hours later, Brennan's asleep on Booth's lap, her head resting against his shoulder, her arms tucked in between their bodies while his are still wrapped loosely around her.

Booth combs his fingers through her hair, gently massaging her scalp with his fingers. He turns his head when he hears something that sounds like a groan mixed with a whimper and his eyes widen. "Christine?"

Brennan stirs and shifts. "Booth?"

"Bones, wake up."

Brennan opens her eyes. "Huh?"

"Christine's awake, Bones."

It takes her a minute to remember where she is and that she's actually on his lap. She stands up and faces the bed. She touches her daughter's cheek gently with the pads of her fingers and smiles. "Honey, just relax." She pulls Christine's hand away from her mouth and frantically presses the call button.

A nurse rushes in and looks at the monitor before looking between the patient and the two other adults. "Is there something wrong?"

"She's awake and she's fighting the intubation."

The nurse nods and walks around to the opposite side of the bed. She looks down at Christine, smiling at her. "It's okay, Sweetheart. Just squeeze your mom's hand and it'll be over in a second." She removes the tape and carefully dislodges the tube.

Christine coughs and lets out a gasp when the tube is fully removed. She swallows and reaches for her neck with her hand, rubbing it. She looks around, unable to recall where she is.

"Dr. Carr is on his way," the nurse says, listening to Christine's heart and lungs. She writes something down and then leaves.

Christine closes her eyes, feeling slightly dizzy. "Mom? Dad? What are you doing at school?" She asks, her voice raspy and quiet.

"You're at the hospital, Honey. Michael found you under the bleachers. You were unconscious," Brennan explains.

"Huh?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Booth prompts.

Christine just continues to look confused, the wrinkle between her brows deepening with each passing silent second.

"Do you remember why you were in the gymnasium at 10:30?"

Christine shakes her head. "I don't remember. I have Stats then."

"We know you haven't gone to Stats in weeks, Christine."

"Mr. Ogland called you?"

Brennan shakes her head. "No, Michael told Angela and she told me."

"My head hurts." Christine swallows and lets out a breath.

Brennan brushes her finger along her daughter's hairline and sits down in the chair Booth had vacated. "Rest, Sweetie. We'll talk later."

Christine nods absently and drifts off to sleep.

* * *

Another hour passes and Brennan is still sitting in the chair by her daughter's bedside. Booth stole a chair from an empty adjacent room and is currently sitting right beside his partner, their hands clasped, their gazes focused on Christine.

Christine stirs and blinks her eyes open. She looks around and swallows. "Hmmm."

"Hi, Honey. Are you feeling better?"

Christine shakes her head. "My heads kills," she muttered.

"The doctor was just in here. He's keeping you overnight just for observation. He'll likely discharge you in the morning," Brennan explains.

"I want to go home." Christine's stomach twists and she swallows, her face paling.

"What's wrong?"

Christine grabs the bucket that's on the nightstand and leans over, emptying her stomach contents.

Brennan stands up and pulls her daughter's hair back, rubbing her back at the same time.

Christine leans back and groans, closing her eyes.

Brennan takes the bucket and heads into the bathroom.

Booth stands and pours his daughter a glass of water, handing it to her. "Michael called while you were sleeping. He's worried. You should call him back."

Christine rubs her temples and sinks into the mattress. "Ugh."

Brennan returns from the bathroom with a clean, empty bucket and sets it down on the nightstand. "Did your Dad tell you Michael called?"

Christine nods, only to regret it a second later. "Yeah."

"Do you remember anything from earlier?"

"I already said no!"

"Christine, there's no need for you to get defensive. Your mom was just asking a question."

"Sorry," Christine grumbles. "Can I go home now?"

"No, I told you Dr. Carr wants to keep you here for observation. I know you want to go home, but your dad and I agree that it would be best for you stay in the hospital. Your blood alcohol level was .35 percent, Christine. You could have died."

Christine blinks.

"Talk to us, Honey."

"I'm tired."

"Dr. Carr gave us a number for a rehabilitation program. Your dad and I have already looked into it and we agree that that's what's best for you at this time."

Christine's eyes widened. "What?"

"Honey, we just want to help you. You won't talk to us and quite frankly, you scared us today. We were waiting for you to acknowledge that you have a problem because we thought it would be more beneficial if you came to the conclusion, that you needed help, on your own, but we can't sit back and watch anymore. You almost died. If Michael hadn't come looking for you, you wouldn't have survived. You were unconscious, borderline hypothermic, and your breathing rate was only six breaths per minute. Michael said you stopped breathing twice in the ambulance."

Christine swallows.

"We're here to help you, Sweetheart. We're not angry; we're just worried. We love you very much and nothing you do will ever change that."

Christine looks straight ahead and blinks slowly. She finally turns her head and looks at her mother, then her father, then back to her mother, as she tries to process what her mom just said. She opens her mouth to say something, but then quickly closes it.

Brennan smiles, taking her daughter's hand in hers. "What is it?"

"I—I'm sorry."

Brennan exhales and squeezes her hand. She stands up and leans over, giving Christine a hug.

Christine hesitantly wraps her arms around her mom and buries her face in her neck.

Brennan pulls back and presses a kiss to Christine's forehead before sitting back down. She looks at Booth and raises an eyebrow. "Do you want to say something, Booth?"

Booth places his hand on top of both Brennan's and Christine's and sighs. "My Dad drank; he died when your mom was pregnant with you. I should have—I'm sorry I didn't see you were in trouble sooner, Princess. We'll get through this together, okay? Your mom and I are here for you no matter what. That's what being a parent is all about. Your kids may disappoint you, but that doesn't mean you stop loving them or caring about them."

Brennan smiles and looks at Christine. "We'll talk more when we get home. We all can research some more and find out the best place for you."

"I—I love you."

"We know," Booth whispers and brings her hand up to his mouth, kissing it. "We know, Princess."

Christine shifts on the bed and shivers. She pulls the sheet higher on her body and closes her eyes. "I'm tired." She looks away from them and attempts to fall asleep, failing miserably. Her head is pounding, she feels nauseated, and she's beginning to sweat. Her mind is racing, as she tries to remember what the Hell happened earlier, and she has to keep her hands wound in the sheet just to keep them from trembling.

* * *

Thinking Christine's asleep, Brennan turns to Booth and leans against him. "I thought she was going to put up more of a fight."

Booth nods, placing a kiss in her hair. "Me too, Bones."

"We should call Parker and let him know what happened. He's been so worried."

"I will. You'll stay with her?"

She nods. "Of course." She smiles.

He smiles back and stands. "I'll bring you back something for dinner."

"I'm not expecting Christine to be very hungry, but—."

"I'll grab her something small. She needs to eat and so do you. Don't think just because I've been kind of distance recently that I haven't noticed you skipping meals."

She sighs. "I've just been worried."

"I know."

"She's going to be okay."

"I know that too. She's strong, just like her mom." He pauses and quietly makes his way to the door. "I'll be back soon."

"I love you."

"And I love you both." He waves and pauses just outside the door. "Keep an eye on her for me."

"Always."

He smiles and walks down the hallway towards the elevator.

She sighs and turns back to Christine, just watching over her.

* * *

**_Next chapter will be the last before the epilogue...it should be up some time tomorrow or next week._**

**_Thanks! _**


	9. Chapter 8

**_Well, here it is...the last chapter_**

* * *

It's been two weeks since Christine was released from the hospital and twelve days since she checked into rehab. Now, she's sitting on her bed with her legs crossed Indian-style, wearing black yoga pants, a baggy, white t-shirt, and her favorite over-sized Northwestern hoody. She shifts and glances at the alarm clock on her nightstand. It's closing in on five in the morning and she's still awake. Truth be told, she hasn't slept much in weeks and when she does, she tosses and turns constantly. She can't remember the last time she got a full eight hours of restful sleep.

She chews on the drawstring of her hoody as she stares at a blank page of her journal. At her first session, Dr. Mitchell, her therapist, told her to start writing down _everything_ even if she thought it was inconsequential. She told her to fill the pages with everything—hand-drawn pictures, photographs of friends and family, quotes, play-by-plays of her day, made-up stories, advice, motivational sayings—anything. She's only written one thing in her journal since Dr. Mitchell gave it to her and it's her name on the line beside the 'This book belongs to' stamp inside the front cover.

She sighs and looks over at her roommate, who's a twenty year-old girl from Baltimore with short, reddish-blonde hair and hazel eyes, and is currently asleep in the twin bed on the other side of the room. She's envious that the girl can sleep so easily. She and her roommate, while they're cordial to one another, aren't friends. They tolerate each other, but probably won't speak once they get out of here.

She kicks down the sheets and climbs out of bed. She puts her flip flops and quietly leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. She yawns and hugs her journal close to her chest as she pads down the quiet, darkened hallway. She creeps past the night guard's office and slips out the back door. She sits on one of the over-sized wooden lawn chairs and leans back, curling her legs under her butt. She breathes in the sweet night air and exhales slowly.

She hasn't had a drink in two weeks, but man, does she want one. A small sip will suffice; she just wants a tiny taste. She misses the burn, the warmth, and the escape alcohol provided. She has to keep telling herself that she doesn't _need_ a drink, but it does little to curb her craving. It doesn't help that she doesn't have friends here yet to help distract her. All she has is solitude and a pushy, annoying, nosy, know-it-all therapist.

She opens her journal again and pulls the pen out from behind her ear, clicking it. She scribbles the date on the first line and stares at it. _Twelve days down, ten weeks and two days to go._ She shrugs and writes the first thing that comes to her mind: This is stupid. She closes the book and looks up at the stars, ignoring the sound of footsteps behind her.

"You're supposed to be in bed, Miss Booth."

"The stars are pretty wild tonight, huh?" She asks the night guard, pointing at the sky.

The man approaches her and looks up at the sky. "Yeah, stars are great. You're supposed to be in bed, Miss Booth," he repeats.

She just nods. "Can't sleep."

"You're not allowed to leave your room."

"This is rehab, not prison. I'm here voluntarily. You can't keep me locked in my room. If I wanna come outside and count the stars, I can. I know my rights and I read the fine print. Nowhere does it say I'm not allowed to leave my room at night. Besides, even if it did, it's morning, so," she turns her head and sticks her tongue at him.

"Have you been drinking?"

She just laughs. "I wish." She shifts and pulls her knees to her chest, hugging her legs.

"Are you all right?"

"Just peachy, Mr. Roberts. You know, I came out here to be alone, so you're kinda ruining my plans."

"Goodnight, Miss Booth."

"Good morning, Mr. Roberts."

He gives her a sympathetic smile and heads back inside.

She heaves a sigh and rests her chin on her knees. "This place would be so much better if you were here, Brit," she whispers. "But I guess if you were here, I wouldn't need to be _here_." She stretches her legs and leans back in the chair, setting the journal on her lap and closing her eyes. She yawns and rubs her temples. Her head hurts and her mind is completely jumbled.

She wants to go home, but she knows she's stuck here for at least another two and a half months. She needs to be here, she knows that too. She's supposed to be retaking the SATs, filling out college applications, and stressing over finding a date for homecoming and the winter formal, but instead, she's here, fighting the urge to raid the "naughty locker", the place where they put all the stuff they confiscate from you when you walk through the front door.

Her parents say they aren't mad for how much she screwed up her life, which she believes, but she wishes they were angry, furious even, because disappointed, which she knows they are, is so much worse. She's only been here two weeks, though really it's been about three months since she's seen them. She misses them terribly. She's hurt them. God, she knows that, as well.

She wraps her arms around herself and allows the tears to fall freely. She shakes her arm, so her sweatshirt sleeve hangs over her hand, and then swats at her cheeks. She sniffles and closes her eyes tight. Her head is pounding now, her temples pulsating with the onset of a migraine. Her headaches have gotten better in the last two weeks, but they are still just as frequent.

She's pulled from her thoughts by the vibrating of her phone in her pocket. When her and her parents discussed rehabilitation facilities and programs, she picked this one specifically because she was allowed to have her phone with her at all times.

She removes her cell from the center pocket in her hoody and looks at the lock-screen. She swipes her thumb across and enters her pass-code. She stares at the message and sighs. _I miss you_, that's all it says. She stares at it for a while before locking her phone and putting it back in her pocket. She's been a lousy best friend to him; she doesn't deserve to be missed and she's not ready to talk to him.

* * *

Another week passes and nothing much has changed. If anything, Christine feels worse. Last night, she got caught breaking into the room where they hold all the prohibited items, so now she has to see her therapist three times a week instead of two, in addition to the mandatory group meetings, and she's not allowed to leave her room until 8 AM.

She's currently walking around the facility with her Dad in complete silence.

Booth stops walking and motions for her to follow him over to a bench. He takes a seat and waits patiently for her to join him.

She sits and wraps her arms around her middle, dragging the toes of her converse sneakers in the grass.

He touches her chin with his thumb and turns her head towards him. "Hey, what's wrong, Princess?"

She shrugs. "Nothing."

He raises an eyebrow. "You may be able to fool your mom with that, but you can't fool me. What's on your mind?" He taps her forehead and hooks his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

She doesn't answer him; she just leans into his side and rests her head on his shoulder.

He wraps her in his arms and rubs soothing circles on her back.

"I hate it here," she confesses. "I want to go home."

"We miss you too, Baby."

She looks at him and shakes her head. "It's not just that, Dad. I just—I'm tired. I'm so tired."

He drops a kiss on the top of her head and wipes away her tears, his heart breaking for her. "I know it's hard, Sweetheart, but you're strong. Just stick it out. It'll be worth it. You'll feel better soon."

"I want—I need a drink. I can't think about anything else. I just—I don't even like the taste of alcohol. It's gross and it burns my throat, but I need it, I want it so bad, Dad. I—I broke into the office last night using one of my bobby pins and a paperclip. If I didn't get caught, I'd have caved."

He smiles sadly and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you for telling me, Princess, and you know, it's good that you want a drink."

"Why? Isn't that the exact reason I'm here? I don't understand."

"You're admitting that you're powerless over your addiction. That's a good thing. Verbalizing that want is what's going to stop you from acting on it. It's what's going to make you go to an AA meeting instead of raid the liquor cabinet. Saying that you want a drink rather than just going to get one means you're stronger than you think you are, Baby. You can fight this and win. I know you can. Your mom and I believe in you and we love you. We're here for you always, got that?"

She smiles, a genuine smile, and leans into him again. "I love you guys too, so much. Thanks, Dad. I'm sorry."

"Shhh. We already forgave you, Sweetheart." He kisses her head and gives her a hug. "I need to get back to the office, but we'll call you tonight after dinner. Stay strong, Princess."

She sighs.

"And call Michael Vincent or text him, at least. He misses you and he's really worried."

She stands and hugs him tight. She really did need to see him and talk to him. He's been where she is. He knows how much this part sucks and how hard it can be. "Thanks for coming, Dad."

He runs his hand through her hair and kisses her head. "You're welcome, Princess."

She smiles, giving him one last hug.

"There's that smile. I haven't seen it for a while. I'm glad it's back."

She rolls her eyes and laughs. "Daaaad," she whines and walks him to the door.

He shrugs. "Hang in there. It gets easier." He pauses and takes out his phone. He pulls up his pictures and shows one to his daughter. "What do you think?"

She takes the phone and looks at the picture more closely. She blinks. "Is that a puppy?"

He nods. "Yep. I'm going to surprise your mom with her for her birthday. She's a pit bull mix and she's a rescue. She's really sweet and friendly. Where she's at now, though, they're going to euthanize her in thirty days if no one takes her."

"Why? She's so cute and she's just a puppy."

"She's got two things working against her. She's a pit bull and she's blind."

"So?"

He shrugs.

"We're really getting another dog?"

"I'm going over there after work to pick her up."

She smiles wider and hands him back his phone. "Can I name her?"

"Of course."

"I'll have to think about it."

He nods.

"Do you think mom's gonna be okay with this? I mean, Gizmo's still a puppy, himself, and she wasn't too thrilled about us surprising her with him."

"Don't worry about your mom, okay? I've got it covered."

"You have a plan?"

"Don't need one. The second she sees that little face, she's gonna go nuts. If that fails, I'll just tell her the dog's story and she'll welcome her into our family without a second thought."

"When mom kicks your butt, don't call and cry to me about it," she teases.

He looks at the time and curses under his breath. "Look, I really have to go back to the office."

"Bye, Dad. Thanks for visiting me." She gives him a hug and watches him hurry out the door. She sighs and turns around, heading back to her room. She still wants to go home, but she feels so much better after speaking to and seeing her Dad. The next two months are going to be difficult, but she can do this—she has to. She owes that to herself and for everyone she's let down in the last four months.

* * *

**_Epilogue next...should be up within a week :)_**

**_Thanks!_**


	10. Epilogue

Christine's sitting on a swing at the park, absently dragging her feet along the ground. Her eyes are red and filled with unshed tears and her cheeks, despite her effort to wipe them free, are streaked with brown mascara. She heaves a sigh and grips the chains tighter. "I can't believe it's already been a year," she whispers so low Michael Vincent, who's idly swinging beside her, barely hears her.

"It's been a long year."

"No longer than any other. It's still 365 days."

He laughs. "You know what I mean."

She turns her head and looks at him. "I do."

"You doing okay?"

She nods. "Yeah."

He stops swinging and holds out his hand.

She takes it and flashes him a genuine smile, blue eyes meeting brown.

He slowly leans over and is inches away from her, when his swing twists and his ankles cross, causing him to lose his balance and fall to the ground.

She gasps between laughs. "Michael, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"My ego's a little bruised, but I'm fine." He pushes himself up and just sits in the sand.

She swallows and shrugs off what was about to happen—err—what she thinks was about to happen. "I—I have to get home."

He pushes himself up and dusts himself off. "Your Dad was going to pick Parker up from the airport today, right?"

She beams. "Yeah. I'm so excited to see him. I haven't seen him in almost a year, not since—." She shakes her head. "He's been really busy with work. He says he's bringing someone special with him and it's not my sister-in-law."

"I'll walk you home."

"Um, thanks for coming with me to the cemetery, Michael. I—thanks."

He slings his arm around her shoulders and playfully bumps his hip against hers. "No need to thank me, Baby."

"You really need to stop calling me that."

"Sorry. It's just a reflex." He moves his hand to the small of her back and the two of them head to her house.

* * *

Michael walks Christine to her door and they just stand there for a few moments, not speaking, just looking at each other. Before she can think or stop herself, she leans over and presses her lips against his. She feels him place his hands on her hips and she steps closer to him, deepening the kiss just a little. She pulls back first and swallows, brushing her thumb across her swollen lips. "I—thanks again." She hurries inside and slams the door shut, leaning back against it and breathing quickly. _What did I just do? _

Outside, Michael stares blankly at the front door and blinks. _What just happened? _"I—I guess I'll call you later," he says to no one and heads to his car.

Inside, Brennan walks out of the kitchen, having heard the door shut. "What's wrong, Christine?"

"I just did something really stupid."

"Did you drink?"

Christine shakes her head. "Um, no, I didn't, mom."

Brennan looks at her daughter critically and nods, satisfied that the teenager is telling the truth. "Then what _really stupid _thing did you do?"

"I kissed Michael Vincent."

Brennan smiles. "Oh?"

"I thought he was about to kiss me at the park, but then he fell off the swing and I wasn't sure, and just now, I was so—even when I was horrible to him he's been so great and today, he came with me to the cemetery and—." Christine throws her head back against the door and groans. "I just screwed everything up. He's my best friend, he's like—he's always been like a brother to me, but I don't know, I just—I kissed him and now I don't know anymore."

"Slow down, Sweetheart."

"I kissed him and ran away. He probably thinks I hated it, but I didn't, it was—it was—I don't even know."

Brennan just stares at her daughter. "Honey, you are not making any sense, so you are going to have to talk slower and clearer if you want my help."

Christine lets out groan mixed with a sigh. "I liked it."

"The kiss?"

Christine nods. "What does that mean, Mom?"

"It means you liked the kiss."

Christine rolls her eyes and throws her arms in the air. "You're no help at all." She pauses. "I'm having a crisis here."

"Christine, you are being a bit overdramatic."

"No, you don't understand. He's my best friend and I just screwed everything up. It's gonna be awkward and just—no, why the Hell did I kiss him and why the Hell did I have to like it so much?"

"You need to breathe, Sweetheart." Brennan pauses. "And I do understand. I was afraid to start things with your father because we were best friends and I didn't want to screw things up."

"When you first kiss Dad, were things awkward afterwards?"

"We didn't speak for just over a year."

"Great. That's real reassuring. Thanks for the help, Mom."

Brennan ignores Christine's sarcasm and continues, "The second time we kissed, it was a little awkward afterwards, but everything returned to normal pretty quickly. The third time we kissed was a disaster. We tried to move on from it, but it was difficult and awkward and we never truly got back to the relationship we had before."

"Mom, you are _not_ helping."

"That was all before we officially got together, so of course things were awkward. We didn't know what we wanted or we wanted different things. The fourth time we kissed was very different. We were both ready then."

"Thanks for trying, Mom."

Brennan sighs. "I'm not an expert, nor do I claim to be, but first kisses are always awkward, Sweetheart. At least, my experiences were always awkward."

Christine nods, walking towards the living room. "What do I do? Maybe he hated the kiss. Then I don't have to worry about any of this and I can just pretend it didn't happen." She laughs. "Yeah, that would be impossible, even if I didn't like it."

The front door opens, interrupting their conversation. "We're home!" Booth bellows and then jerks, startled to find Brennan standing right there in the foyer. "Oh, Bones, hi."

"Where's Parker?"

"He's getting the bags. I offered to help, but he said he could get them." Booth looks at Christine, who looks somewhere between embarrassed and frustrated. "Hey, Princess. Everything okay?"

"Just peachy, Dad."

"What's wrong?"

"She kissed Michael Vincent."

"Moooom."

Brennan shrugs. "Oh, was I supposed to keep that a secret."

"I'm surprised it took you two this long."

Christine's eyes widened. "What?"

"That kid looks at you the way I've always looked at your mom. I've known for a while how he feels about you. I like him and I've known him his whole life, so I wasn't too worried about it, but if you two do start dating, just remind him that I have a gun and I know how to use it."

"Daaaaad!"

Parker walks through the front door and shuts it behind him.

Brennan and Christine both stare at him; well, they both stare at the little girl resting on his chest, asleep on his shoulder. "Who is that?" They both ask at the same time.

Parker adjusts his arm around the little girl and smiles. "Bones, Firefly, this is Jasmine." He kisses her dark brown curls and shifts the sleeping child to his hip.

"Where did she come from?" Brennan asks, rather bluntly. The girl looks to be about three and she knows for a fact she wasn't in the picture the last time he was here.

* * *

Parker carries Jasmine into the living room and places her down on the couch carefully. He covers her with a blanket and strokes her hair as she drifts back to sleep. He steps away and looks at his Dad, stepmom, and little sister. "She's a foster child. I sometimes volunteer at a children's home near my office and the last time I was there, I read the kids a story. Jazzy—that's what the director and the older kids call her—crawled into my lap and wouldn't let me leave. The director said that was strange for Jazzy. She had been there for two months and she was wary of strangers, even the director, herself. She was surprised how quickly Jazzy took to me."

Brennan looks at the child and then back to Parker to listen to the rest of the story.

"She thinks it has something to do with the fact that I look a little like Jasmine's Dad, who was arrested for possession and child endangerment shortly before she came to live at the home." He glances at the sleeping child and smiles. "She wasn't there when I visited the time before last. The director told me she was placed with a family, but it didn't work out. That was the nice way of putting it. She still has some bruises and scars from cuts and cigarette burns on her back, stomach, and legs." He sighs. "I couldn't leave her there and Jenna and I are both registered foster parents, so—we've had her for about two weeks now. I knew I was coming out here, so I wanted to keep it a secret. We're in the process of adopting her."

Brennan blinks and swallows, her own painful past bubbling up to the surface. "She's lucky to have found you."

"I'm the lucky one." Parker runs his fingers through Jasmine's curls and watches her sleep soundly on the unfamiliar couch. "When she wakes up, I want you guys to meet her. She's really smart."

"How old is she?" Christine asks, looking at the little girl.

"She's almost three."

"So I'm an Aunt?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. She's cute."

"She's perfect." Parker beams. "We still want kids of our own, of course, but I just—I met her and I knew she was meant to be ours."

"Does she still think you're her father?" Brennan asks, a little concerned.

"She never did. I just look like him, so she feels comfortable with me. She calls me Arty." He laughs.

Brennan smiles. "She seems like a wonderful little girl, Parker." She pauses. "I'm going to heat up the macaroni and cheese for lunch," she says, heading into the kitchen.

"I'll help."

"Booth, I don't need your help to operate the microwave."

"Sure you do." Booth follows her into the kitchen.

"Are you just making an excuse to leave so that Christine and Parker can be alone to talk?"

"Nothing gets past you, Bones." Booth nudges her and places a quick peck on her cheek.

"Parker and Christine are both old enough to understand that you are not in here to help me reheat the macaroni. You could have just said you were going to leave the room, so they could have the privacy to talk. You didn't have to lie."

Booth rolls his eyes and sits at the island. "You aggravate me sometimes, Bones, you know that?"

"I did know that. I appreciate your honesty, Booth. I wish you would give our children the same courtesy."

Booth grunts.

Brennan just smiles and pecks at his lips before heading over to the refrigerator to get out the Mac-n-cheese.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the living room, the siblings just sit on the floor, staring at each other. Parker finally breaks the silence between them. "How are you, Firefly? You good?"

Christine shifts and plays with her shoelaces, avoiding her older brother's eyes. "Yeah, I'm good. It's been a year—today—since Brittany died. I put flowers on her grave earlier. I have good days and bad days, hard days and easy days. I start college soon and I—I'm kind of nervous. Not 'cause of school or anything, but 'cause of the parties and temptation and stuff."

He reaches over and takes her hand. "I'm really proud of you, sis. It takes guts and strength. I don't know if I could do it, getting sober, I mean."

"Mom and Dad don't keep alcohol in the house anymore. I feel bad that they had to get rid of it 'cause of me. It was a choice. I know they didn't have to get rid of it, but still. I just celebrated nine months sober. I almost slipped once, a month after I got out of rehab. I went to the movies with some girls from school and they brought vodka in water bottles. I spent five minutes staring at the bottle and then I left. Mom picked me up."

"Good for you."

She nods. "I—I'm proud of myself. The chips, they really help. Dad goes to meetings with me sometimes and Michael drives me the other times. I don't like going alone."

"I was worried about you. I called all the time, I sent you emails too. You never responded."

"I—I admit I was angry at the time and a part of me didn't think I deserved all the support. I was horrible to everyone."

"We're family, sis. You'll always deserve my love and support, no matter what." He pauses. "I'm sorry I snitched on you to Bones and Dad, but I—I didn't know what else to do. You wouldn't talk to anyone and I was really scared, Firefly. You weren't acting like yourself."

"At first, I was pissed that you told Mom and Dad, but I—I want to thank you."

"You don't have to thank me."

"Yes, I do."

"Then, you're welcome." He pulls her into a headlock and kisses her head.

She squirms and pushes him away, laughing. When he finally lets her go, she punches him in the arm.

"Ow."

"That didn't hurt, you big baby."

He rubs his arm, feigning hurt, and smiles. "So how are you and Michael Vincent? Are you friends again?"

She sighs.

"What happened?"

"We're friends—best friends—that never changed; we just didn't talk for a little while."

"Then what's with the sigh."

"I—I kissed him earlier."

"Did he kiss you back?"

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Does that mean you're _more than_ best friends now?"

"Like are we boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Yeah, sure, are you?"

She shrugs. "It was just a kiss."

"Did you like it?"

She didn't answer him, which was an answer in itself.

"You don't know what to do, do you?"

"No. Mom was no help. You're a boy. Maybe you can help."

He puffs out his chest. "Correction, baby sis, I'm a man, not a boy."

She throws her arms up in mock surrender. "Oh, I'm sorry. You're a _man_, so maybe you can help me sort all this out, you know offer me a different perspective or some crap like that."

"I can try." He pauses. "So do you like him?"

"He's my best friend. Of course I like him."

"Firefly, stop pretending you don't know what I mean because I know you do." He loosens his tie and gives her a knowing look.

She sighs and slumps. "I've been feeling _things_ for a while now. Ever since Brittany died and he got me that stuffed bear before I stopped talking to him. He's been here, even when I refused to let him be here, all year, and I don't think he realizes how much that means to me. I like to spend time with him and we have a really good time together. He's weird and goofy and makes me laugh. He makes me feel better just by smiling or telling me an absurdly unfunny joke. He's really smart too and hot. I like talking to him." She pauses. "I don't wanna ruin what we have, though. Until this year, I've seen him more like a brother than anything else. It's confusing and scary."

"You're eighteen, Firefly. You're getting too serious about this. Just talk to him, see what he wants, and go from there. It's okay to try something out. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. You move on." He pauses. "I like Michael, he's cool; but just remind him that I'm a black belt and I'll kick his ass if he ever hurts you."

She rolls her eyes. "Maybe I should just lock myself in my room and never date anyone ever."

"Now that's a thought—."

She punches him in the arm again, this time harder.

He rubs the spot and laughs. "I was just kidding, sis."

Jasmine stirs on the couch and starts to whimper. "Arty," she mutters, her eyes opening wide.

He crawls over to the little girl and brushes her curls out of her face. "Hi, Jazzy. Shhh. I'm here."

Jasmine reaches out for him, wrapping her tiny arms around him and holding on as he pulls her into his chest. "Hi, Arty," she says more clearly, snuggling into him.

"Jazzy, there's a few people I want you to meet."

Jasmine lifts her head and looks at the stranger person sitting a few feet away. She looks away again and buries her face in Parker's neck.

"Hi, Jazzy. I'm Christine. I'm Parker's sister, so that makes me your Aunt." Christine holds out her hand for the little girl. "It's nice to meet you."

Jasmine looks at her again and narrows her eyes, which are a dark shade of brown. "Hi." She smiles.

Booth and Brennan reenter the living room and smile at the now awake little girl, who once again buries her face in Parker's neck.

"Jazzy, this is my Dad, he's cool, and this is Bones. Only Dad and I call her that, but I'm sure she'd let you call her that too if you asked."

Jasmine looks at the two new strangers and smiles slowly. She laughs when Booth makes a funny face at her and then she looks at Brennan. "I caw you Bones?"

Brennan smiles. "You can call me Bones if you want, Jazzy."

Jasmine beams. "Hi, Bones." She looks at Booth and furrows her brow. She doesn't know what to call him. She turns back to Parker and tries to figure how to ask the question.

Parker beats her to it. "You can call him Booth."

Jasmine nods and waves. "Hi, Boof."

"Hi, Jazzy."

Jasmine rubs her stomach when it growls and then she starts to giggle. "I'm hungwy."

Brennan nods. "Then it's a good thing I made macaroni and cheese, then. Do you like mac-n-cheese?"

"Mac-n-twees." Jasmine throws her arms up in the air and squirms out of Parker's grasp. When he lets go of her, she scrambles up to her feet and runs over to Brennan, who takes her little hand and guides her into the kitchen.

"I think she likes Bones." Booth smiles at Brennan and sighs. Seeing her with that little girl reminds him of how she was with Christine when she was little and it just makes him fall in love with her all over again.

Parker nods. "I knew she would." He pushes himself up and heads into the kitchen, with Booth not far behind him.

Booth stops walking and turns back to look at Christine. "Are you coming? You love Mac-n-cheese, especially your mom's."

"I'll be right there."

"You okay?"

Christine nods. "I just need a little space to think."

Booth leans down and kisses her forehead. "Don't take too long or there may not be any macaroni left."

Christine smiles. "I'll be there soon."

Booth smiles back and heads into the kitchen. "Hey, save some for me and Christine."

* * *

Christine sits on the couch and spends a few minutes thinking over what Parker said to her before Jasmine woke up. Maybe she should give her and Michael a chance? She isn't anywhere near a decision when she decides to just stop thinking and go into the kitchen for lunch. As she walks towards the kitchen, the doorbell rings. "I'll get it," she calls to her family, who all stop what they're doing and look in that direction. She walks to the door and checks the peephole, furrowing her brow. She opens the door wide and stares at Michael. "What are you doing here?"

Michael Vincent steps closer to her and swallows. "I'm risking humiliation and bodily harm, but I need to do this."

She's about to ask what he means, but she doesn't get a chance. Within a second, his lips are pressed firmly against hers and his hands are resting comfortably on her hips. It takes her a moment to get over the initial shock and then she kisses him back, stepping into him and snaking her hand around his neck while the other rests on his shoulder. She's the one that pulls back first, and that's only because she can feel eight pairs of eyes on her. She swallows. "Uh."

He heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. "I—I've wanted to do that for a while now. You stole all my thunder, though. I always thought _I'd _be the one to kiss _you_ first."

She smiles shyly. "What—what does this mean?"

"I didn't have time to go to the floral shop, but I—." He pulls some crumpled dandelions, a couple buttercups, and a bouncy ball with a cricket inside from his breast pocket. "Tine, will you be my girlfriend?" He shows her the mess of gifts and can't help but laugh.

She smiles at him and kisses his cheek. "Are you sure you want me to be your girlfriend? I mean, this past year has—."

He pushes the flowers and marble into her hands and kisses her hard on the lips. "Yeah, I'm sure, as sure as my Dad is that life exists outside our planet." He backs out of the doorway and smiles at her. "I have to go. I just—I just needed to do that." He waves and runs back to his car, slightly embarrassed.

She waves and slowly shuts the door. She turns around and finds everyone's eyes on her as she suspected. She closes her hand around the weeds and smiles. She lets out a breath and heads into the kitchen, ignoring her family's curious stares. The past year has been difficult to say the least, but she made it, she survived. She hit rock bottom, but she can only go up from there.

* * *

_**The End...**  
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